Long Lost Love
by Angelic Lawyer
Summary: Right after returning Erik's ring, Christine decides to correct her countless mistakes. Can a minute's divergency bring down her last hopes?
1. Chapter I

**A/N: **This was my first effort of making an angst phic. Well, when I began to write it, the story really didn't come this way, it turned to be more a drama one. Anyway, I'm content with it. You may also call it a songfic, if you want. But I don't think it is exactly one. I was simply hearing the latest Nightwish record,_ Century Child_, for the thousandth time and some passages called my attention, it was as if they had been written to a phanphic. And, in some way, they may had been inspired in the Phantom, since there's a cover version of the song _The Phantom of the Opera_ – a very different and heavy metal-styled one, I may add – in this same CD. The quotes here belong, respectively, to one short verse in the _Century Child_ that doesn't belong to any song at all, to the lovely _Ocean Soul_ and to the first part of the song _Beauty of the Beast_. This said, all I ask of you is to, please, review and tell me what you thought about this story. Your comments always mean a lot to me, they're the reason why I cannot stop writing.

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters here belong to me. They were created by Gaston Leroux, introduced into the musical world by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and rewritten by Susan Kay. And, I may add, those guys did a really good work. They're just lending me Erik, Christine and the Fop for some time… and I'm grateful for this :)

"The only true love I ever knew 

_was behind those downcast eyes_

_The only comfort I ever felt_

_was during those long hours of loneliness_

_when I felt for you"_

"_Christine, I love you..._"

The words still echoed in her mind so clear, so sincere, so painfully spoken that she could swear they were coming from somewhere else but her own racing thoughts. She knew she would never forget their final moment. Erik's pleading expression and the last cold touch of his hand when she had given back his ring would be painted on her heart for the rest of her life, just like his divine music would survive in her ears. And for the rest of her life she would regret her own silence after his declaration... 

_Christine, I love you…Christine…_

"Christine!" Raoul robbed her thoughts for a second or two as he shouted next to the gondola.

She blessed the darkness in that place and the considerable distance between them. It was for the better that he couldn't see the solitary tear rolling down her cheek. She didn't love the Vicomte, this she had always known. She had discovered with time that she loved that mysterious, secluded man she had left behind. 

"Why you took so long?" Raoul asked impatiently, his hand remaining on the level of his eyes, making him look pathetic as she approached him. "Let's go."

Suddenly, the realization of what she was really doing made her stop in her tracks. She was leaving him forevermore. Waking from that strange state of unawareness, she shook her head at that thought. She could not, _would _not abandon him like this; Erik needed her as much as she needed him and she had to go back again, this time, to stay.

"Come on, Christine!" the young man exclaimed, gripping her arm fiercely.

"No, Raoul," she managed, backing away, "I won't go with you."

"You don't know what you're saying," he hissed. "Get into the boat now."

"This is the end, Raoul."

"The end?" he echoed, his voice filled with astonishment that was quickly replaced by rage. "Oh, yes, the end. It will be to that monster! He's still controlling you, I know!"

"No, he isn't. He never controlled me, I always came to him of my own free will and now it won't be different," she retorted with certainty.

"Oh, please, Christine! Try to understand that I'm doing all this for you. All I want is you to be happy and you know you'll be happy by my side."

The irony Raoul's words gained in her ears was like the last drop in a jar full of water. She knew she was engaged with him just because of her lack of determination – her immatureness had sent her directly to his arms and promises of security in the past. That was why she hadn't accepted Erik's ring, after all. But the whole affair was wrong; it should have been the contrary. Raoul was a dear friend, but nothing more than this. And Erik... What Erik meant to her, really? Firstly, he had been her Angel, her omnipresent tutor and the gorgeous voice behind the mirror. Although she couldn't admit to herself at the time, she had already fallen in love with him. Then, the truth had arisen when he had taken her to his lair for the first time. He had revealed his identity, showed that he wasn't a celestial being at all; he was a man – the Opera Ghost. If she didn't pull his mask away, her protector once had told her, nothing would happen to her. But soon she had given in to her curiosity and had done exactly what she had been told not to. Something had truly happened to her: slowly, so slowly that not even she could notice immediately, she had begun to see him with other eyes, eyes that didn't care at all for his appearance – eyes of love. Erik meant everything.

"If you really want me to be happy, Raoul, don't ask me such a thing," she said as evenly as she could, finally emerging from that moment of silent lucidity, renewed with a strong resolve.

"Why?" he asked using all his dramatic capacity, afraid of losing his beautiful trophy to a man that he considered inferior. "Don't you know I love you? Don't you love me?"

The mob was approaching fast; she could hear their shouts. Christine walked toward him, looking deeply into his eyes. She was aware that she was staring at Raoul for the last time and that her decisive reply would erase their childhood memories, the only thing that had truly kept them together.

"No."

She gathered her skirts, noticing that she was still wearing the wedding dress, and ran to Erik's lair. 

"Christine!" Raoul cried with all the air left in his lungs, but it was too late – she no longer could hear him. Recognizing now whom she had rejected at last, he observed her white figure being gradually swallowed by the darkness.

The house was strangely silent. The piano was mute, its ivory keys appearing somehow incomplete without Erik's soft touch; the darkness was much more intense and the air was heavy with the previous tension. Yet, the sensation of comfort caused only by that singular place remained. Nothing had changed since her departure, minutes ago.

In minutes either, the mob would destroy it all. Not finding Erik, their violence would be discharged on his belongings.

"Erik!" she called, and the only reply she received was the echo of her own voice.

Where was he? She lit a few candles to illuminate her path through the house that she had grown to consider her home. Erik wasn't anywhere she searched. Instead, she found his cape and mask lying on his throne. The mask had become cold long ago, but the warmth of his cape was undeniable under her hesitant fingertips. Instinctively, she rubbed her cheek on its smooth fabric, as though it could provide the same protection of his embrace. All she wanted now was the bare love that had laid within his dark, deep eyes for so long. When they had parted after that passionate kiss, that same love had given her the certainty that she belonged by his side and now she shivered lightly at the intensity of these feelings. 

Then why had Erik sent her away? She would defeat the darkness, abandon the opera, defy the pointless society, just to stay with him. Instead, he had pleaded for her to go away. Had he thought that she would not be happy with him and that let her go was the best thing to do? But she would never be happy _without_ him. That kiss had brought the knowledge that, no matter what, they were destined to be together, if not physically at least by thoughts like these.

Could it be that after all this he was gone? She couldn't accept that fate's cruelty, even though she already felt the burden of the merciless truth. Just like her doubts about her own feelings, her beloved had disappeared forever.

"Walking the tideline, I hear your name 

_ – is angels whispering _

_Something so beautiful it hurts_

_I only wished to become something beautiful_

_Through my music, through my silent devotion"_

Die in his lair, killed by the furious mob, was a tempting possibility that he had to refuse. He knew he would survive to their brutality like he always managed to survive when he didn't want to. Besides, the wounds within were much more hurtful than any external one would ever be.

Having no other choice, Erik left his life and the place that guarded a great part of it behind. From far away, he saw the clarity in there and wondered who dared to invade the Phantom's hideout. Perhaps a forerunner sent by the mob, perhaps Madame Giry or even the Persian. Anyone but Christine.

She wouldn't come back, that horrified child. When she had given back the ring that now he wore, he had fed the hope that she would remain by his side and had prayed silently for her to stay, seeing the lingering look in her dreamy blue eyes. 

Christine was a dreamer; that was what had allowed him to approach her in the first place. She had dreamt of the Angel of Music and he had come to her, talking to her, teaching her, entrancing her with his voice, but never revealing himself. Once that angelical illusion had been shattered, she had never looked to him in the same way. Even so, his love for her had grown with each passing day and the last happenings, which had frightened her so much, had only been the result of his fear of losing his angel.

After all, his uncertainties were confirmed and she was really gone now. Yet, he had never thought that one day he would be touched with such tenderness or have her in his arms in a moment he treasured. Many times, he had wanted nothing but her touch, had longed for her proximity. Now, after that instant of fulfillment, his unwise confessions had driven her away.

Unlike her, he had never dreamt freely. His life, his sins and his appearance had forbidden him. But once he had transgressed that prohibition. He had dreamt of the day when she would come to accept his abhorrent features, enjoy his company, trust in his protection and maybe even love him. This, of course, had been an illusion.

"Christine..." he breathed desolately, hearing the sound of his own voice linger in the darkness for what seemed an eternity.

Standing on a darkened corner where he knew no one would ever find him, he let his mind wander, but no matter what he did, his thoughts whirled back to her like they had done all the time.

After many failures, the mob finally broke into his house. Gazing at their brave torches and hearing their threatening cries, Erik analyzed his ironic situation. Usually, it would be he the one to pursue, and they would scream with fear, not hate. How heartbreak could change the things! Now, it was the hunter who was decamping from his preys. Even the weakest knows when to attack a stronger enemy, especially when this enemy was hurt – that was the perfect time to definitely exterminate it.

Christine, come back to me... All my life I have been lost in the darkness, without any guidance. You're my guide and my light now. Don't leave me here in the dark! His silent pleas meant nothing to him, not if they wouldn't bring her back.

Minutes before the mob's invasion, Christine left the house through a hidden passage Erik had shown her long ago. 

She stared at the languid waters of the lake from a retired part of the shore and embraced herself, thinking. Words were nothing and everything in a lifetime. They could change the world, decide one's destiny, suppress a talent. But much more than this, the words could reveal the happiness someone had always been seeking for. What would have been of Erik and her if she had said the right words?

She tried to imagine, closing her eyes solemnly. Murmured to the darkness, the words finally left the bottom of her soul to reach the ears of the other lamenting being that was hidden not too far from her. He took them as wind's console; somehow telling him what he had longed to hear for all his sad existence,

"And I love you too, Erik."

"Will we find each other in the dark, 

_my long lost love?"_


	2. Chapter II

**A/N: **Writing this sequel was really fun and I finished it rather quickly. I have to admit, Long Lost Love is one of my favorites, hope you enjoy it too. Thanks to Lyn for the fundamental incentive to write this sequel and to you all that e-mailed me to ask for a happy ending or talk about Nightwish (good to know that there are other metal phans fans out there). The first chapter was briefly revised and slightly modified. More phics in 2004 :) 

**Disclaimer: **This is entirely based on ALW's Phantom and I don't own any of the characters mentioned here. They belong to Webber, Kay and Leroux. The two Nightwish quotes here belong, respectively, to _Gethsemane_, from the CD _Oceanborn_,and to _Ever Dream_, another music from _Century Child_.

"Another Beauty 

_Loved by a Beast_

_Another tale of infinite dreams_

_Your eyes they were my paradise_

_Your smile made my sun rise"_

"My mother made you a cup of tea, Monsieur," Meg knocked lightly on the door, trying to be as quiet as possible as she walked toward the dark silent figure that paced back and forth inside her bedroom.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry," the man replied, addressing her with surprising courtesy, coming from the main character of the horror stories told among the corps. She figured out in a second why Christine had once told her that her tutor was the Angel of Music. She hadn't been teasing Meg at all; a voice like his was worthy of an angel.

She noticed that for the first time his head hadn't jerked up when she entered the room. Perhaps he was getting used to her constant intromissions, or simply didn't care, devoting his attention to Christine. Even after watching the mob's horrid vandalism in the name of the dead, Meg's eyes had widened with shock as soon as she had recognized her friend lying unconscious in his arms. Had she not seen his ugly face streaked with the vestiges of tears, had she not witnessed the way he had put himself into danger just to hire a coach and bring them safely home, she certainly wouldn't have believed in his narrative of how he had found Christine collapsed on the shore. The young soprano only left the security of his arms when he had laid her kindly on Meg's bed, and even then he had seemed sad for letting her go. It had become implicit that he wouldn't leave until he was certain that his beloved was all right. The concern written on his half-masked face confirmed Meg's recent conclusions; now she believed that the Phantom – or Erik, like her mother had called him a couple of times – loved Christine very much.

However, he did not expect Christine to love him in return. His ruined self-confidence couldn't acknowledge the viability of such an unequal love. Paradoxically, for a few minutes, his love for her had made him oblivious to the absence of the mask that usually hid his features, until Meg gave it to him, already inside the coach. She had been scared and dubious then, but looking at him now, she saw a man who could feel love and grief like any other, not the inhuman Opera Ghost. That new perception inspired her trust; she wasn't afraid of meeting his eyes anymore.

That man could have been very happy and successful, had Mother Nature aided him a little. It was a pity that he should be condemned to a lonesome existence, never knowing love or care. Yet, Meg saw his only chance to change that stir, as did he, who was kneeling beside the bed before she could open her eyes.

"Erik…" Christine stuttered, raising one hand to touch the air in front of her, as if trying to finally reach some light after having only darkness before her eyes during her collapse.

"I'm here, Christine," he soothed, taking her hand in his with the protective instinct of the man that had guided her in the cellars. His heart leapt in his chest with the realization that she had called his name instead of the Vicomte's, although he preferred to not deduce exactly what it meant.

"I'll tell my mother that she's awake," Meg said, receiving a curt nod from Erik and a bewildered glance from her friend.

With her free hand, Christine reached out to touch his face, hardly believing that she wasn't dreaming. The way he winced, releasing her other hand instantly, hurt her more than any frustrating illusion would have done.

She sat up, wondering where they were. Evidently not in the Louis-Philippe room or any part of Erik's house – everything was probably destroyed by now. After all they had gone through, she had thought that his sudden appearances couldn't make her faint anymore. Finding him at last had caused a rush of emotion strong enough to prove her wrong. 

The sudden silence that had followed the mob's return upwards confused her; still lost in thought, she had touched the waters that had received her confession, wondering if the nothingness was the only thing left after a tragedy. But it wasn't exactly nothingness that had remained with her on the shore. Her last remembrance was of his desolated figure, so close that she had tried to call out to him. However, her voice had sounded suddenly weak and she couldn't know if he had heard her when everything had turned into a blur; she had lost her balance, but the sensation of hitting the ground had escaped to her – strong arms had kept her away from that pain in her last instants of consciousness.

Now standing a few steps away, Erik drew a deep breath, knowing he must answer her questions in order to enlighten his own confusion.

"Madame Giry and her daughter found us on the shore," he broke the silence, mistaking the serenity that emerged in her eyes at the sound of his voice for relief for not being totally alone with him. "You were unconscious and I helped them to bring you here, to their home."

If only she knew what had passed through his mind when he had realized that those words of love brought by the wind might have been more than mere illusion! Amazed at the thought of having his prayers answered for once in his life, he had searched for the owner of the celestial voice that had called his name and the sight of a dazed Christine, who could barely stand, met his eyes. Ahead of any word, he had run to support her when his accurate perception had warned him that she had fainted. He couldn't even disguise his perplexity, for Mme. Giry had materialized before him immediately, as if expecting an opportune moment to offer her help one more time. She had assumed wisely that bringing Christine to her flat would facilitate her recovery, something that he had accepted as an involuntary excuse to carry her for an instant more. The feeling of her in his arms had been a sweet torture, but it was worth the endurance now that he saw the color finally returning to her face, that had grown pale at the sight of him. 

Defenseless in his embrace, still wearing the wedding dress he had designed solely for her, Christine had been the bride he would never come to have. With this bittersweet memory in mind, he questioned if the words he had heard on the shore had been the first symptom of plain madness. But if it were madness, why was she here and not with the man she had chosen to love?

"Why were you there?" he asked after a long pause, fearing and desiring her answer at the same time.

She stared down at him, despondent. She had hoped this question wouldn't come so soon. After that night, would he ever believe if she told him the truth? She had hurt him badly and not only once; surely that declare her love wouldn't heal the scars deep inside him effortlessly. Even so, there was something different in him and all of a sudden she discovered what it was. He knew about her hopeless confession. This fact gave her the redeeming certainty that if he had heard her once, she could strive to make him hear her for a second time.

"Because I couldn't live with any more mistakes, Erik," she said. He frowned slightly, clearly not comprehending what she meant by "mistakes". She rose, as though this very motion, instead of just sending him backwards, could make him understand. "I couldn't leave you, knowing I will belong forever by your side."

Stern disbelief dominated him. He wondered if maybe his extremely sensitive ears had captured the wrong words, or if she was delirious. He had to check her temperature, but the thought of touching her discouraged him; he definitely didn't trust himself to stroke her soft skin and remain composed. 

"I not even got into the gondola with Raoul," she added, this detail obviously essential to her – how could she use the same boat that had brought her to Erik to flee from him? "I realized at that point that my life without you wouldn't be worth living."

The more he listened, the less he could believe. She was pretending; that was the only possible answer. Hadn't he read the fear in her eyes when she had run away? But now, only tears of genuine regret were falling from those eyes. The hope that had stirred in his heart during their heavenly moment of farewell nearly convinced him that she was purely telling the truth. All the same, he wouldn't let this irrational emotion overcome him, not a second time. 

"I don't think so," he replied, the bitterness in his tone acting upon her like a gunshot. "Without this dreadful ghost, your life would be much better. You'd finally have the chance to live those sunny days and wonderful mornings in the company of that boy."

"I don't want this," she muttered, "not with Raoul."

"Oh, my dear, you made it reasonably clear that you do," he said resignedly.

She looked away, not having the courage to face his rigid air. He had every reason to think that; after all, not so many hours ago, she had abandoned him. And earlier than that she had watched impassively his heart being shattered by words and acts. In fact, she had seen in Erik's painful jealousy a sort of shield against his love, although she had craved for this love even when her childish fears had mercilessly denied it.

"Why would I be here if I did?" she retorted, confronting his eyes again.

He distinguished an atypical resolve sparkling in her eyes. She couldn't be pretending, but was she _truly_ aware of what she was saying? For how long would this resolve last?

"I already asked you this," he said with deliberated coldness, "but you refuse to tell me the truth."

"This _is_ the truth!" she protested, feeling her temper rising with an increasing frustration of not being comprehended. "Erik, I want to stay with you. I would have told you, had you given me the chance to really make my choice. That's why I was there and that's why I am here!" her voice was reduced into a murmur after this outburst, "If you tell me that you don't want me to stay, I'll go now, even if it costs my own happiness. Just tell me – don't you want me to stay?"

"I used to hope you'd stay despite everything," he turned away, wishing more than ever that his mask could effectually hide his misery. "But now I know this cannot be. How could you remain with me if the memory of my face will always haunt you? I can't have you recoiling from me, horrified, every time you evoke how I look like without a mask."

"Your face stopped frightening me long ago, Erik," she answered, the previous anger fading from her voice. Her hand stopped inches away from his back in an interrupted spontaneous movement, and she retreated it once more, knowing that not even a comforting touch would be welcome at the moment. "You shouldn't think it matters so much."

"It mattered for all my life," he snapped.

"Things change," she said simply.

"For me, they never did," he sighed. "Just go, my dear. We both know it's for the best."

He shut his eyes against the image of her departure, which was still fresh in his mind. It felt as though he was living it right now; seeing her move away from him, leaving his realm of doom behind as soon as the ring planted on his palm destroyed the last bond between them. How painful that remembrance would always be… One was enough to make him suffer indefinitely; he wouldn't see her leave again, though she _ought_ to leave. He could hear her footfalls, even if she hadn't moved at all; and with his eyes closed, he could see her walking out of the room to never come back. This awful fantasy was interrupted by her voice, uttering words of an unbelievable disobedience,

"No, I'd be ruining your life and mine, and not making the best," she grasped his arm, forcing him to turn and look at her. Only then he realized with great surprise how close to him she was. She sketched a smile, noticing that even withdrawing hastily from her touch, he hadn't backed off. "You say the memory of your face will make me recoil from you, but can't even guess what my true fears are."

He gave her an indirect look. What could terrify her more than that infernal vision?__

"All the time, I was very afraid of losing you, of doing something that displeased you," she admitted. Uncontrollable relief washed over him at such an unexpected affirmation, stronger than his skepticism or astonishment. "I'd be horrified if you recoil from me yet again, my love."

His hands fell to his sides as he watched her tiptoe and begin to untie the ribbons that kept the mask in place. He still expected her to shrink away from him when his visage was revealed; instead, she leaned forward and quietly met her lips with his. Love, fear and desire blended in his soul, he closed his eyes; his whole being absorbing hungrily the contact he had never thought to feel again. Astounded with his own boldness, he found himself bending to passionately respond to her kiss, and she let the mask fall to the floor, entwining her fingers in his. 

"I must ask you something," he whispered into her hair when they parted and he held her close to his heart. 

"And what is it?" she looked up at him, smiling.

"I don't know if the moment is appropriate for such a proposal," he began, while taking off his graceful hands' only adornment and slipping it on her wedding finger, then kissing tenderly the back of her hand, "but I think anything is better than my earlier attempt to make you mine. Christine, would you accept my ring, along with my love?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his face with assenting kisses.

"I never wanted anything else," she said softly.

_"The only dreams I ever craved were the two dreams I shared with you_

_One I now have, will the other ever dream remain?_

_For yours I truly wish to be"_


End file.
